


who could love you more

by jdphoenix



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-15 22:52:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11240952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: Grant pays Christian's mistress a visit. He isn't expecting to find Simmons.





	who could love you more

**Author's Note:**

> Title kind of from "stay with me" from Into the Woods.
> 
> A Father's Day fic for Grant.

The building’s nice. Doorman at the front, security cameras in every hall, ID scanners on all the doors so no riffraff off the streets can come in pretending to be a member of the staff. So Grant doesn’t. He pretends to be exactly who he is: the brother of the senator who very discretely pays the rent on one of the midlevel apartments.

No one hassles him, no one looks at him twice. If anything, the man at the front desk looks very busy forgetting his face.

He spares a minute to wonder what they all must be thinking. Probably that he’s come to break the news to Christian’s mistress that it’s over, election season’s coming up and he can’t afford the risk of keeping her on the side, maybe they can pick things up next winter when the polls are closed.

She’d probably be happier if that’s what he was here to do. Holding her hostage until Christian shows up like he does every third Wednesday of the month won’t be fun for either of them, but he’s not gonna hurt her. Just tie her up a little. Her cleaning lady’ll probably find her before the first stages of dehydration even set in.

Or that was the plan. It kind of goes out the window when the door to apartment 24C opens and he comes face to face with Simmons for the first time in nearly a year.

(He thinks. Fifty-fifty odds whether he hallucinated her worried face hovering over him after his third suicide attempt.)

“Ward,” she breathes. The blood’s draining from her face so fast he worries she might faint. “What are you-? How are you-?” Her eyes snap into focus and she looks up and down the hall. “Come in.”

She doesn’t sound happy to be making the offer, but he’s not about to spare her feelings by turning it down. He does take precautions though. Checks the distance to the elevator and the stairwell—both in easy reach, he notices—watches her to be sure she’s not pulling a weapon, touches his own just to know they’re still there.

He’s missed something. Something big. There’s no way Simmons is Christian’s mistress; it’s not her style. It is SHIELD’s though. They were in the middle of a shitstorm when he escaped, but they could still have undercover agents working. Of course, that presupposes Simmons is capable of working undercover. Which she isn’t. No way she could fake a relationship. So just what the hell is happening here?

“Did you kill anyone?” she asks, eyes on the doorknob while she turns the lock. Interesting choice, considering. He’d expect her to leave the escape route as clear as possible, not lock herself in here with him.

“Nope.” He didn’t have to. That prisoner transfer was the sloppiest he’s ever seen. He’d be insulted if it wasn’t so good for him. “Surprised?” he asks when she stares.

“Honestly? Yes.”

“Good. That makes two of us.”

She flinches, and for some reason that prompts him to take a second look at her. She’s the least put-together he’s ever seen her, and that after months on the Bus. That sweatshirt she’s wearing—secondhand, he’s guessing, since she definitely didn’t attend Colombia—is practically drowning her. It’s stained too. Fresh ones mixed in with the faded, washed-in kind that’ll never come out. Her hair’s in a messy up-do that’s more about getting it out of the way than style, and she’s not wearing a bit of make-up. She looks worn down, days-spent-hunting-for-Coulson exhausted.

“So you found out.” She leans heavily against the door.

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” he asks, putting a smirk on it to turn it teasing. Since he still doesn’t know what she’s doing here, he has no idea what he’s supposed to have found out but he’s not about to let her know that.

“Honestly? No. I just thought I’d have more time.” Her gaze drifts over his shoulder and he’s gotta fight not to spin around to fight off someone he knows isn’t there. “Did Gonzales tell you?” she asks, focus back on him.

“Gonzales,” he says slowly. “Grey hair? Beard? Cane?” Grant’s still not clear on just who he was—SHIELD, obviously, but where he fit into the new power structure was a mystery Grant didn’t have the frame of reference to figure—but whoever he was, he _really_ hated Grant. It was almost funny. He’d come down, demanding answers. Sometimes he’d send that Morse chick in, like she could get to him when Coulson couldn’t. The threats got more creative as time went on, more frequent. Then he finally followed through on the one to transfer him, and two days later, here Grant is. He’s betting Gonzales hates him even more now.

Simmons nods.

“Nah. He came to visit a couple times but…” He trails off. She’s rubbing her arm, looking so small and scared he wants to hit someone. He hopes it’s not of him; that’d just be awkward.

“Did they follow you?” she asks. Ah. Not him then.

He can’t help but put a hand on her shoulder. “No. No, I lost ‘em back in Virginia.”

The tension in every line of her eases. So she’s running from SHIELD too. He knows from the articles he picked up on the way here that Christian’s been making a stink about Coulson’s limping operation. Maybe he’s protecting Simmons in exchange for intel. But why the hell would she need protection at all?

A sudden, sharp sound echoes from inside the apartment. Simmons doesn’t hesitate, just slips right past him, leaving him no choice but to follow.

The living room looks the same as Simmons: warm colors, homey touches in knick-knacks and wall art, and just a general mess over the whole thing like she’s given up on even the littlest things. No putting the pillows back on the couch or keeping the coffee table from turning into a landing pad for anything and everything. And he can see why: she’s holding a baby.

She bounces him (Grant’s guessing, based on the blue PJs, that the kid’s a him) on her hip and shushes him gently. Grant just stares. His mind’s stuck on tiny fingers curling in Simmons’ hair and sweatshirt, dark eyes glaring at him over her shoulder like he’s the interloper here, that pitiful half-cry that hiccups out of him, and Simmons’ voice murmuring soothing nonsense.

“So,” he says once the kid’s quieted. The single syllable draws a muted shriek.

“Oh, Van,” Simmons sighs. The chiding tone does all the work. That sour little face buries itself in her chest. “You were saying?” she asks.

He meets her eyes over the tiny head. “This is why you’re running from SHIELD? To protect your kid?”

She wavers on her feet and on instinct he moves forward, feet carrying him halfway across the apartment in a heartbeat so he can hold her hips. This close he can smell the baby, disinfectant covering up worse smells, but also something warm and new that takes him back to his childhood after his mom brought Thomas home.

He looks kind of like Thomas did too. But he figures that’s just babies. Everyone’s kind of fat and mushy at that stage before their features start really settling in.

“Why are you here?” Simmons asks. There’s a breathless quality to her voice he puts down to his proximity. He doesn’t know when she up and quit, but since he’s still alive he’s guessing it was after his suicide attempts. He was playing a dangerous game in those days and more than once had to reel himself back in or risk losing himself for real in his mask of instability.

He moves his hands to her arms, rubbing up and down in a gesture that used to reassure her. “Honestly? I came looking for Christian. I know he’ll be stopping by tonight.”

She nods to herself and moves out of his hold, sinking onto the couch. He does the same, sitting at an angle so he can watch her.

“You knew my brother was the one paying your rent here, right?”

“Yes,” she says. She doesn’t move away when he puts a hand to her back, but her grip on the kid tightens more than he’d like. “I would have been hard-pressed to miss that detail.”

“You wanna tell me why that is? And why you’re running from SHIELD?”

She meets his eyes for long seconds before her gaze drops to his side and the gun that’s visible through his open jacket. “Do I have a choice?”

No, she doesn’t, but he discovers he doesn’t wanna say so while she’s holding the kid.

“This is family business,” he says. She flinches at that, her hand spasming on the kid’s back. Grant’s eyes narrow on the little face, mirroring the distrustful expression the kid’s got on. There’s something Grant’s missing there, something more than just the hows of Simmons having a freaking kid. “I’m here for Christian. I don’t want you getting hurt in the fallout. Either of you.”

She laughs, but not the way she used to on the Bus. This is the kind of laugh that comes after more than a year of struggling to survive in the wake of the uprising.

“Simmons,” he says gently. “Just tell me what’s going on so I can help you.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t believe you.” She cups the back of the kid’s head, prompting him to look up into her face. He grins broadly at the sight of her, open mouth showing off his gums.

“He looks like you,” Grant says. For some reason, Simmons’ expression sobers. “He’s got your smile. I’m guessing he’s got his dad’s coloring. And that that’s not Fitz.”

“No. No, he isn’t Fitz’s.”

That had to hurt when Fitz found out—and Trip too, if Grant was gonna guess anyone would beat Fitz to Simmons… But that doesn’t matter. Whoever Simmons hooked up with after the uprising, he’s not here now and all it takes is a glance around this apartment to know she’s drowning.

Grant moves a little closer, resting his hand at the base of her spine. “I will protect you, Simmons. I know I made some mistakes, followed John when I should’ve been reigning him in, but I’m trying to make up for them. You gave me a second chance so I could.”

“I gave you more than a _second_ chance,” she mutters, her fingers smoothing over the kid’s fine hair. She’s not wrong. He put his life in jeopardy more than once, counting on her every time to save him.

“The team’s the only real family I have left. Let me protect you again.”

For a second, he’s sure he’s messed this up, reminded her of the bad when he meant to be reminding her of the good. But then she slumps a little into his touch and he knows he has her.

“Ivan,” she says slowly, “is yours.”

Grant’s brain screeches to a halt. It takes him at least three full seconds to pull his discordant thoughts together well enough to say, “We’ve never had sex.”

“No,” she agrees immediately. “But you did have sex with Lorelei.”

That name propels Grant to his feet. He paces away, struggling to fight off disturbingly pleasant memories of the night he spent brainwashed by that bitch and the swell of white-hot hate that follows them. This isn’t the time to fly into a berserker rage.

He looks back at Simmons, hoping she’ll help calm him down, but it’s the sight of the kid that does it. _His_ kid.

And fuck, wasn’t he just thinking how much he looked like Thomas?

“Okay,” he says, prompting her to keep explaining because that doesn’t really explain much.

“Sif brought him. She said Odin decided he should be with his father’s people.”

She trails off, again explaining nothing except that the psychotic bitch mother of Grant’s child is probably not too happy he’s not with her. Only Grant doesn’t think she’s the reason Simmons is hiding out.

“So why isn’t he with SHIELD?”

Simmons closes her eyes. “There were … complications. The status quo changed drastically prior to Sif’s arrival and that, coupled with her coming at all…” She meets his gaze. “You’ve met Gonzales.”

“Yeah,” he says because she makes it sound like a question.

“He and his people believe Coulson is amassing an army of Gifteds.” Her fingers curl in the back of the kid’s shirt. “Ivan wasn’t safe with them around.”

The news that there are people out there who would’ve hurt Grant’s son is oddly calming. Threats, he can deal with.

He moves back to the couch, taking a seat hip-to-hip with Simmons so he can get a better look at Ivan. Those are his eyes and his _fuck off_ scowl. It’s a trip seeing them on someone so small.

“Hi,” he says, holding out a hand. Ivan stares at it a moment before Simmons gives him a little bob. His fist closes around Grant’s first finger. “Hello, Ivan. I’m your dad.” Ivan doesn’t seem too impressed by this news. “Does Christian know?” he asks, still in the gentle tone of voice he adopted on instinct when he addressed his son.

“He knows he’s yours,” Simmons says. “I knew your family had influence and it seemed only logical to ask them for help-”

“It’s good,” he says, cutting her off. He’s not _happy_ she ran to Christian—who’s tied with his parents at the top of the list of people he’d least want near his kid if he’d known he had one—but she’s right, the Wards have power. It was the smart play, smarter than going on the run with a baby would’ve been. “He’s obviously taken care of you.”

Her mouth twists down in a way he doesn’t like at all, but he doesn’t press. There’s time for that. “He believes I’m Ivan’s mother. I didn’t think it wise to inform him his nephew was half-Asgardian and it seemed the most logical explanation for why I had him but no idea where you were.”

“No idea where I was?” he echoes. She looks scared for a second, like she expects it to be a threat, but his teasing smile has her relaxing. “It’s okay. The way I was … I wouldn’t have wanted him near me either.”

When he says it, he means it to be a lie to reassure her, but once it’s out he isn’t so sure. When he was half-crazed and trying anything, even risking his own life, to escape, would he have wanted his son there? How far would he have gone if he’d known about him?

Ivan’s still got a good grip on his first finger, so he straightens out the other three to touch that soft, chubby cheek. “He’s a good kid?”

“He’s a brat,” Simmons says, but then she laughs and bends forward. Ivan makes a high-pitched sound of pure joy as she kisses his forehead. “He takes after his father.”

Grant chuckles. “Yeah, I can see that.” He can see something else too: that Jemma never-gonna-abandon-SHIELD-even-at-the-point-of-a-gun Simmons walked away from everything she ever believed in and put herself in the hands of a corrupt, abusive politician, all for Ivan. She may not have given birth to him, but there’s no doubt she’s his mom.

Grant shifts a little closer to her side, wrapping his arm around her shoulders in a hug. “Thank you,” he says, meaning it sincerely. “And I stand by what I said. I’m gonna protect my family. That means keeping the both of you safe.”

Her stunned expression hurts a little—he’d hoped her being here was a sign he didn’t do as much damage as he feared during the uprising—but the blush that rises to her cheeks is the same one he used to see on the Bus. Her opinion of him has changed, but her crush on him hasn’t.

“Can I hold him?” he asks. Christian won’t show up for a while; he might as well make the most of the time getting to know his son and ensuring that, when the time comes, Simmons trusts him to keep his promises.

 


End file.
